Lie in the Bed I Make
by Aishuu
Summary: Spoilers for DH. Without Harry in the picture, someone has to step up to lead those opposed to Voldemort. That someone is Neville Longbottom. This is the story of the Hogwarts Underground.
1. The First Evening

**Lie in the Bed I Make  
** A Harry Potter Fan Fiction  
_by aishuu  
_Characters: Neville, Seamus  
NOTE: Spoilers for _Deathly Hollows_. I'm throwing this out to see if there's any interest in this scenario, and might do a couple of fics in this series. I'm sure several writers are going to tackle this angle. ;;

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The room seemed mockingly empty as Neville set his trunk upon his bed. He looked over at Seamus, and received a blank stare in return. Their two beds were dwarfed in a room originally meant for five, and both of them felt the quiet oppressively weighing down on them.

The room had never been so still. With five teenage boys in residence, it was always a hub of activity; the silence was so unbearable that Neville had to speak. "Harry didn't come," he said unnecessarily, because of all the absences, it was Harry's that was felt most keenly. For so long their lives had revolved around the Boy Who Lived, and now he wasn't there.

"He would have been mad to," Seamus replied as he abandoned sorting through his things and came to sit on the edge of Neville's bed. "And Ron's got spattergroit."

Neville barely contained a snort. Both of them knew that Ron was wherever Harry was, but couldn't voice it aloud. Neither was stupid; as the closest friends of Harry's remaining at Hogwarts, it was likely there were magical eavesdropping devices hidden throughout the room. It was why they didn't mention Dean, because talking about a Muggleborn would only ask for trouble.

"Do you want to move the beds?" Neville asked, unwilling to let the conversation die. There was a space between their bunks where Dean's bed used to be, and the room looked decidedly lopsided.

"Leave them," Seamus replied, and his chin set in stubborn lines. "Just in case."

_Just in case what? _Neville wanted to ask, but didn't. He knew what Seamus was hoping for: somehow a miracle would happen, and Harry Potter would win quickly. Then things could return to the way they're supposed to be, and everyone could come back. They could have the seventh year they're supposed to, one last grand hurrah before venturing out into the real world.

Or pretend to have that innocence. Neither of them had been a child since joining Dumbledore's Army.

"Okay," Neville agreed, shuffling through his trunk until he found the Chocolate Frogs his grandmother packed. Producing two packages, he tossed one to Seamus before taking a seat next to him. They were sitting so close that their thighs touched, and Neville found reassurance in the tactile contact. Seamus was warm and real, and as long as he was there, Neville wasn't alone.

They ripped into their packages, and Neville slid the card out habitually, wondering if he would finally get a Flavius Belby. To his horror, it was a card he didn't have, but never wanted to see. He took a glance at Seamus and saw a similar expression of loathing on his face. Neville flipped the card over to show his friend, and earned a grimace in reply.

_SEVERUS SNAPE  
Currently Head master of Hogwarts_

Considered by many to be one of the foremost potion masters of the modern era, Snape is particularly famous for creating several potions of use in promoting Pureblood supremacy.

In his spare time, Snape enjoys gardening and researching the Dark Arts.

Seamus turned his card to display Dolores Umbridge's cheerfully described biography, exalting her firm hand with youth. "At least it's not Bellatrix Lestrange?"

Neville didn't flinch at the name of his parents' torturer, especially since Seamus didn't know about what had happened. Neville had grown used to thinking of that horrible woman. He had witnessed the gradual evolution of her image into a martyr as the media fell more deeply under the Dark Lord's sway. Now even the candy company was participating in the whitewashing of Death Eaters.

"They're probably designing one for her as we speak. I've lost my appetite," Neville said grumpily. Neither he nor Seamus ate the candy, throwing it into the small waste receptacle in the corner.

Feeling a bit lost and for lack of a better idea, they fetched a Wizarding Chessboard, and set up a match. They weren't very good, both more experienced at losing to Ron than knowing how to play competitively. Their pieces reflected their lack of interest, barely smashing the opponent whenever a capture was made. They played in silence, although both had plenty of things - _dangerous_ things – they wanted to say.

It was strange to be in a room with Seamus alone, and stranger still that Seamus wasn't talking his ear off. The Irish wizard was a notorious loudmouth, unable to shut up. Neville remembered fifth year, when Seamus had gone too far and told Harry – to his face – about his doubts. But Seamus was a Gryffindor through-and-through, and he'd been brave enough to apologize when confronted with evidence of his mistake.

Neville hadn't needed that proof. Harry had always been too frighteningly sane. Like the oracle Cassandra, he had always told the truth. It wasn't his fault that people couldn't bear to hear something so horrible.

Neville knew the game wasn't worth continuing when Seamus didn't even flinch as his queen was captured. But they played on, because at least they were together, despite the cloud of gloom hanging over the school. Neville wondered if Dean had anyone to be with.

As the hands pushed forward on his watch – from _not doing much_ to _curfew_ - Neville felt his fatigue grow. He wasn't ready for bed, but the last few months had gradually worn down his reserves.

He'd felt uneasy for weeks, which was only compounded after boarding the Hogwarts Express and finding so many of his friends missing. After OWLs, students could drop out of school without recourse, but he was surprised that so many chose to flee. Hogwarts used to represent safety.

Not anymore. Not with Snape and his Death Eater friends in charge. Members of the Wizarding World might not acknowledge that You-Know-Who was back, but they were taking steps to protect their children. Maybe he shouldn't have come back, but Gryffindors weren't supposed to hide in fear.

Neville realized that he'd been childishly hoping that Harry would come back to Hogwarts despite the danger and tell him what to do next. He had never been the leader; he had always followed Harry. Harry was the hero, and Neville was one of his supporting players. He had been happy to help, and even gladder that the responsibility wasn't his.

But Harry wasn't there to lead anymore.

After he finally pushed Seamus into Checkmate, he stared down at the board. If this was a normal night, Ron would have been yelling about how sorry a game they'd played. Harry would have been rolling his eyes, probably grinning a bit that Ron's zealous nature wasn't annoyed with him for a change. And maybe Dean would have been drawing the scene. Neville had always admired Dean's talent as an artist.

"That royally sucked," Seamus said, like he was reading Neville's mind. "Why do we even bother?"

"Well, if Ron gets better, we'll need to keep in practice, right?" Neville responded, even though Ron wasn't going to appear anytime soon. Ron wouldn't be back until it all ended – and only if Harry won.

"I guess. Not like it's going to help – he'll still kick us all over the board. It's too bad there's no such thing as a professional chess player," Seamus said, offering a dry laugh. It's the first time Neville's heard anyone laugh in a while, and it was a sorry attempt. Seamus' throat sounded tight, but Neville appreciated the effort.

He forced a laugh of his own. "If he was as good at Quidditch as he is at chess, he'd be a one-man team."

"Harry could be," Seamus said thoughtlessly, before smacking a hand over his mouth as if by doing so he could take his words back.

"_Harry _could be," Neville echoed, stressing his friend's name. He couldn't help but notice that speaking Harry Potter's name was becoming nearly as anathema as saying You-Know-Who's. There was something wrong in that. Harry was the good guy.

"Harry's name isn't taboo," he added, mentally tacking on _not like You-Know-Who's._

"I know." Seamus deflated a bit, slumping down onto Neville's bed. The movement upset the board, and several of the pieces went flying onto the floor. They complained quite loudly, the most spirit they had shown the entire evening. Seamus guiltily slid off the bed to collect them, setting them gently in their case before shutting the lid.

Neville watched Seamus, trying to ignore the melancholia that threatened. Ron would have been throwing the fit to end all fits by now. Chess was sacrosanct in Ron's world.

A part of him was actually jealous that Ron had been trusted by Harry enough to accompany him on the quest. Neville would have preferred that to the impotence of just sitting at school. Neville had been moving closer to Harry's inner circle, but in the end it was always Ron and Hermione who he turned to.

"Do you think they're okay?" Seamus asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

It was the question that's been hanging between them the entire evening, like a dragon hidden by a poorly-thrown invisibility cloak. Neville opened his mouth to give a stock reassurance, but closed it just as quickly so he could think. Lying to themselves wasn't going to get them anywhere. "If we can't believe in them, there's nothing left to believe," he said finally.

Seamus nodded, but remained seated on the floor, looking defeated. For some reason, his slumped posture grated on Neville's already over extended nerves. "Get up, man," Neville commanded. "You're a Gryffindor."

He wasn't sure if he was flattered or offended at the slightly bug-eyed expression Seamus wore as he obeyed.

Neville had once won the House Cup for Gryffindor for his courage in standing up to his friends; surely standing up to his enemies couldn't be worse. While enemies had the power to threaten life and physical safety, it was only friends that can touch his heart. Neville knew what had become of his parents in the first war, and was terrified of having the same thing happen to himself. _But living in fear would be worse,_ a small voice said in the back of his mind.

Somewhere out there, Harry Potter was working to destroy You-Know - _Voldemort._ He could think the Dark Lord's name in the privacy of his mind, he told himself. And it was time to use his mind to figure out what he needed to do. The answer was blindingly obvious, and a surge of adrenalin swept through him as he realized what his next steps were.

Harry would need allies. He would need the people who he could count on when he returned to Hogwarts. Neville would see that those people were in place. There were still people who were loyal to Dumbledore's memory – and to the Boy Who Lived.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the fake galleon that Hermione had designed for Dumbledore's Army in fifth year. Neville always kept it with him, as both a reminder of that dreadful day in the Department of Mysteries and because it might come in handy. Ginny and Luna probably still carried theirs. Maybe a couple of others had theirs as well.

Would they check? Neville couldn't be sure. And even if they did check, how many people would be insane enough to go against the Dark Lord without Harry Potter to lead them? Neville wasn't vain enough to think he could replace Harry.

It was worth a try, he supposed. "Heads or tails?" he asked, waiting for a reaction. Seamus had never been one of the most fervent DA members. He would be a good test.

"Heads," Seamus replied quickly, pulling his own talisman out to display its presence. "Gryffindors always turn situations on their heads."

There was only one place they could still speak freely. The Room of Requirement. Not even Snape would be able to bug that, though they would have to avoid getting caught going there. Flipping the coin, Neville triggered a message to signal that a DA meeting was going to be held immediately.

He wondered who would come.

"Let's go on a snack raid," Neville said just in case they had an audience. He wouldn't put it past Snape to be spying right now. A schoolboy raid on the kitchens would be less dangerous than a DA meeting, though he was convinced they'd receive harsh punishment even under that guise if discovered.

Seamus grinned, and his posture was erect with determination, a complete about face from ten minutes before. "I'm always up for a good snack," he replied.

They dressed in their school clothes but left their robes behind. After tucking their wands up their sleeves, they stole through the common room. The Fat Lady gave them an approving smile as they passed, holding a finger to her lips to indicate she would keep their secret. Neville couldn't help but feel the strangeness of the situation. It was his step that Seamus was following, his plan that was being instituted.

If they get caught breaking curfew, there would be hell to pay. Snape had announced that the Carrows would be taking over the school's discipline. Neville wasn't naïve enough to believe Death Eaters would be anything less than ruthless in performing the task.

But those that did not protest condoned the situation through their inaction.

Neville wasn't the best or the brightest student, but that didn't matter – he would do this. Not for fame and fortune, or even for friendship, but because it was the right thing to do. His parents had stood up once; he would not be worthy of their legacy if he didn't fight now.

He would be Gryffindor until the end. 


	2. A New Mission Statement

**Lie in the Bed I Make  
** A Harry Potter Fan Fiction  
_by aishuu  
_

* * *

_Chapter Two: A New Mission Statement_

Neville hadn't spent that much time sneaking around Hogwarts after hours – that had always been Harry's domain – but he'd broken curfew once or twice, usually seeking out an illicit snack from the kitchens. That had been thrilling, and the food had always tasted especially great when purloined, but this was entirely different. If they were caught...

_We won't let that happen,_ he told himself. He just needed to follow Moody's favorite advice: constant vigilance. Harry had echoed it quite frequently during the DA meetings.

Neville took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair before moving further down the hallway. The foremost danger would be running into Peeves or Filch (or even both in the middle of one of their infamous fights), but not far behind would be the Carrows. He hadn't liked how the newly minted Professors Carrow had smiled at the feast as Snape had laid down more stringent rules. He had caught a glimpse of the Dark Mark on the woman's arm, and the man leered threateningly every time a student had been sorted into Gryffindor.

Hogwarts itself, though, seemed to be on their side. The portraits were all nodding silently or averting their eyes as he and Seamus crept past. The staircases had only shifted once, and that had been a blessing, cutting a good five minutes off their trek. Seamus had gasped loudly as the stairs started to move, but Neville shot him a glance which shut him up before he'd done anything stupid.

Finally they were there, standing with the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy to their backs. He motioned for Seamus to stand aside so he could summon the needed space. _We need someplace safe to talk, where Voldemort's supporters can't find us,_ he thought as he paced back and forth in front of the Room of Requirement.

The door slid open in front of them, and Neville had to remind himself that darting inside like a nervous first year wouldn't inspire confidence. Even though it was only Seamus as a witness, Neville had to act brave. Maybe he'd start feeling that way if he pretended long enough. "After you," he said softly, gesturing flamboyantly with his right hand. Seamus gave a low chuckle, and then stepped in. Neville followed seconds later, and then the door shut.

It didn't look like it had when the DA had first entered two years before. This room wasn't set up to practice spells; instead, they were met with a comfortable room that bore a strong resemblance to the Gryffindor common room. A fire burned merrily in a prominent fireplace, and there were several plush chairs arranged in a close circle that would make conversing easy. Neville and Seamus exchanged glances, before settling into the red-upholstered chairs.

"Do you think anyone will come?" Seamus asked. "It's awfully late. Everyone could be asleep."

Neville wondered how anyone could sleep after that uncomfortable welcoming feast. "Luna will," Neville said confidently. "And Ginny. They came when..." he trailed off, not wanting Seamus to feel badly for missing the battle in the Ministry of Magic during fifth year.

"That's why I keep my galleon on me now, and check it several times a day," Seamus said bluntly. "It's okay, Neville. I know you've got more field experience, but there's still plenty of us that want to help. I don't like where things are going."

"Neither do I," Neville said, and it was like unleashing the floodgates to say so aloud.

It had been a very silent ride on the Hogwarts Express. The Professors Carrow had strolled up and down the train, casting looks into the compartments. Their presence had been the first sign of the changing, ominous times ahead for the school that students had been confronted with. While Ginny, Neville, Luna and Seamus had all made purchases from the snack cart, none of them had actually eaten much. They'd spent the long trip nibbling half-heartedly on the snacks, staring at each other or out the window.

For so long Neville had been consciously censoring what he thought. Now he could be completely honest, without fear of being overheard. "The paper's claiming Harry killed Dumbledore, but it was Snape. And now Snape's in charge of the school, which is entirely unjust, and there's Death Eaters openly wearing the mark, and-" he caught himself, aware that he was babbling badly. Shaking his head, he collected his thoughts and told himself to slow down and stop panicking. "You-Know-Who is back, and he's in control of the school. And probably the ministry, so we can't get any help there."

"So we'll have to do it ourselves," Seamus said. "Not like we didn't do it-" he was cut off abruptly by the sound of the door opening. Both of them stared as Ginny and Colin entered. To Neville's disappointment, the door shut again immediately. Glancing at the golden watch his grandmother had presented to him for his birthday, he noted the hands on _waiting._ Sometimes he wished the stupid thing would just tell time, like an ordinary Muggle clock.

"Pull up a chair," Seamus invited as he slouched back into his own seat. "The party's just getting started."

The two younger students took the offered seats. "What's going on?" Ginny asked, not one to beat around the bush. "Which of you triggered the coins?" Her eyes were on Neville.

"I d-did," he said, mentally cursing as a stutter tripped up his lips. He had been presumptuous to do so, since it'd always been Harry or Hermione doing so before. He hoped Ginny wouldn't be too mad, since her voice could get very shrill when she yelled. "I thought the DA should discuss a strategy for this year," he explained. That sounded better, more confident.

"Good idea." Ginny's smile was approving, and Neville reflected, not for the first time, she really was a very pretty girl. But there was a time to think of girls, and that wasn't now. Besides, Neville understood that Ginny had already given her heart to Harry Potter. There would be no point. "Do you think we should-"

"We might want to wait for the others," Seamus interrupted. "No point in repeating ourselves."

"Is anyone else coming?" Ginny asked. "It could just be us."

"Gryffindors are the ones with all the courage," Seamus said, shifting an arm to prop his head up. His eyes were starting to droop from fatigue. "Though Lavender and Parvati are conspicuously absent."

Neville wondered more about where Luna was. She'd always had the strange ability to know what was going on before anyone else, and he'd assumed she'd check her coin. Despite her somewhat distracted mien, she was loyal. She would be here if she knew there was a meeting.

"Lavender and Parvati are probably sleeping," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "They'll have astronomy tomorrow night – it's traditional for NEWT students to have it the first school night back. Some kind of mystique ritual or something."

"Ah," Seamus said. "So glad I dropped that after fifth year."

Neville had forgotten about Astronomy's first night tradition. He was in the class, too – and Professor Sinistra would be irate if he fell asleep, since it was supposed to be a Big Deal. He wished he still had his Rememberall. The stupid thing had always been lit up, so it hadn't helped much, but it was the principle of things.

"I think we'll have more than classes to worry about," Colin said, speaking for the first time. Colin spoke in a deeper voice than Neville remembered, a surprisingly pleasant tenor. Sometime over the summer, it must have broken.

Colin sat with his arms around his knees, and appeared unusually downcast. The younger boy was still shy of his growth spurt – or maybe he would be one of those unfortunate souls that never became tall. While Colin had always seemed young, Neville was startled to realize he had to be sixteen. It was so tempting to treat him like a child because of his usual effervescence, but something had happened to dim his usual glow. Considering he'd bounced right back after being petrified in his first year, it had to be something serious. "Is something wrong?"

Colin sighed. "I had to register as a Mudblood before coming here. They almost didn't let me come back."

"Was registering that bad? I thought it was just a paper thing," Neville said, exchanging looks with Ginny. He'd heard about the new policies at the Ministry of Magic, but the information hadn't really registered. He'd been busy trying to track down information on Harry, along with making plans to enter his seventh year.

"You wouldn't understand," Seamus said to Neville, before turning to look at Colin. "I'm half."

Colin nodded his acknowledgment, and Neville could see something click between the two, a kind of close comradeship. "If I told my parents what was really happening in the Wizarding World, they'd pull me out in a heartbeat. If I was a couple years younger, I would never have been invited to Hogwarts. It's really screwed up that a bunch of kids who should be here will never know about the magical world."

"Does blood status really matter?" Ginny asked. "We're all friends, and deciding to categorize ourselves is just giving into what You-Know-Who wants."

"It shouldn't matter, but it does," Seamus said flatly. "You and Neville-"

The door slid open again, and Neville's breath caught as Luna strolled in, trailed by Michael Corner, Terry Boot and Anthony Goldstein. She gaze them her usual bright smile before drifting over to one of the three chairs. Which had turned blue while Neville hadn't been looking.

"You could have given us more warning," Michael said crossly. Neville couldn't help but note that he took the chair furthest away from Ginny. "Luna had to wake us up."

"You snuck into the boys' room?" Ginny asked incredulously, her red eyebrows rising higher on her forehead.

"Someone had to get them." Luna twirled a lock of her blond hair around her ring finger. Leave it to Luna to completely overlook the strict prohibition over entering the opposite gender's dorms after curfew without thinking twice about it.

"Do you think the Hufflepuffs are coming?" Seamus asked. He stifled a yawn behind his hand. "We don't have all evening to wait."

"I heard Hufflepuff was having a house meeting," Terry said. "They've got the most Muggleborns."

Neville had noticed the spaces at the Hufflepuff table. Dean wasn't the only student who'd decided it would be better not to attend. It made sense for Hufflepuff – which was just as renowned for its fierce, nearly mindless, loyalty as Gryffindor was for derring-do – to make plans to protect its own. But that wouldn't help the rest of the school, and Snape loathed the house in general and several of its more timid members in particular.

Neville couldn't help but remember the Sorting Hat's song from fifth year: _For our Hogwarts is in danger from external deadly foes, and we must unite inside her or we'll crumple from within..._ He hoped it wasn't too late, because the enemy was already among them.

"They'll come tomorrow," Luna said, as though it was accepted there would be another meeting. Her eyes were fixed somewhere beyond Neville's head, and she was obviously lost in her own little world. Neville didn't doubt that she'd speak up if she thought something was important.

"For what?" Corner asked. "Why are we here, anyway?"

"To talk about what's happening," Neville said. "Since Harry isn't here, I thought the DA should discuss what to do about Snape and the Death Eaters. This is going to be worse than Umbridge."

"She's already had a promotion," Ginny said bitterly. "My dad was talking about it."

The idea of Umbridge being trusted with power again was a sobering one. "Thicknesse obviously belongs to You-Know-Who. He's not out as a Death Eater, but he could be under the Imperius," Terry reasoned. They were silent for several moments, each lost in their own thoughts. They couldn't trust the school or the ministry to protect them.

"How is Harry?" Michael demanded, turning to stare at his ex-girlfriend fiercely. It was strange to hear it from Michael of all people, since he was essentially asking about his former romantic rival. But Corner had always been a good sort, no matter what Ron thought.

There had been no reliable news on the Boy Who Lived ever since the now infamous Bill Weasley-Fleur Delacour wedding. If anyone was going to have a clue what was happening, it was the Weasley family... and Ginny Weasley in particular.

"I don't know!" Neville might have thought she was snapping back, but the frustration and fear was written into her eyes. "I just know that he's with Ron and Hermione. They didn't ask me to come."

"Maybe they're hunting a babapari," Luna suggested. "Catching one of those would definitely help Harry win."

It was a sign of Neville's mental fatigue that he almost asked what the hell she was talking about before he remembered it was Luna. No one understood half of what she said, even on a good day. "We can assume whatever he is doing is important," Neville said, glancing around to gage the reaction.

To his relief, they each offered a nod of agreement, even Michael. "So we need to do something, too," Terry said. "This place is going to be nasty this year. Aside from continuing defense lessons, we're going to have to be more proactive. Keeping an eye out for the younger students, undermining Snape..."

"I'll take plenty of pictures and mail them to the newspapers," Colin piped up, looking more like his old self. "If people see what's going on, it might make them act. Nothing like threatening kids to get people in a lather."

"My dad would print them," Luna promised.

"I don't think that's a good idea, not with Death Eaters in charge of discipline," Ginny said. "If I were you, Colin, I'd put your camera away. It'd be safer."

"Freedom of the Press is important. Maybe we can create an underground newspaper or something, since the Daily Prophet is a propaganda machine." Colin glanced over at Luna belatedly, recognizing his words might be taken as a slight of her family's product, implying the Quibbler wasn't good enough competition.

"And that's different how?" Seamus asked from bitter experience.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Terry said at the same time. He shifted on his seat, before pulling a ballpoint pen – he was definitely Muggleborn – and a sheet of parchment out of his sleeve. "What we need is a plan of action and a mission statement."

The idea sounded ridiculous to Neville, and apparently Seamus agreed. "Isn't it 'oppose the Death Eaters at every turn?'"

"Sounds good to me," Terry returned. "Though I would modify it to 'oppose the Death Eaters at every turn, while striving to keep ourselves safe.' No point in being brave just to be brave." He bowed in his seat mockingly toward Seamus, playfully digging the Gryffindor reputation.

"Agreed," Neville cut in, trying to forestall a fight. It was true that his house had a tendency to rush in without thinking, and were somewhat sensitive when someone else pointed that out. "We're not going to rush into this like..." he paused, before grinning in reply, "first years."

They all laughed. "Touche," Terry said, then started to write on the parchment. Within minutes he had created a sign up sheet, and wordlessly handed it to Neville. He had a neat, precise hand, typical of his house, and had created a formal-looking document. Neville decided to read it aloud to save time, since they all needed to get to bed sometime soon if they were going to be functional in seven hours.

"_The members of Dumbledore's Army hereby reaffirm their commitment to opposing the Dark Lord, Death Eaters, and all who support them. We recognize the equality of our fellow witches and wizards, and will strive to undermine all efforts of those that seek to persecute others. We will work toward the ultimate defeat of the Dark Lord, aiding Harry Potter and his supporters in any way possible. We will protect Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and its students from debasement and abuse. Most of all, we recognize that all life is sacred, and will do our best to preserve the lives of our fellow students and ourselves._"

"Wow," Seamus said. "That sounds really impressive."

"It's important people know what they're signing up for," Terry replied. "I'm not going to curse it like last time."

"We're beyond that kind of precaution. We can only show it to people who we can trust without putting some kind of minor jinx on force them to keep their word," Ginny said. "This is life and death."

"It was last time, too," Luna put in.

It was a good point, although they hadn't known it last time. Neville had _mentally_ recognized the danger during fifth year, but it hadn't sunk home until Bellatrix had escaped Azkaban. With a flourish, Neville scrawled his name on the bottom, signing his own death warrant if the sheet was ever found. It felt right to do so with a Muggle pen; this was a statement that rejected the very idea of blood supremacy.

"I'll sign next," Anthony Goldstein said, speaking for the first time. He was a dark, bespectacled young man who was the epitome of Ravenclaw virtues. He also tended toward silence, which made him hard to know. Neville handed the parchment over, wondering why Anthony had felt so strongly.

One by one, they affixed their signatures to the statement, finally ending back with Terry Boot. Now that they were committed, there was no going back. "So where do we start?" Neville asked.

"I have an idea," said Ginny, clearing her throat. "But it's going to be dangerous."

If Ginny was saying that right now, before even offering the plan, it was going to be a trial by fire for the newly revitalized DA. But maybe that was the best way to go. "What is it?" he asked.

"We're going to break into the head master's office and steal the Sword of Gryffindor."


	3. The Two DAs

**Lie in the Bed I Make**  
_by aishuu  
_

* * *

_  
Chapter Three: The Two DAs_

Neville felt like his mind had been wrapped in cotton balls as he slumped against the table during breakfast the next morning. They hadn't gotten back to their dorms until after two, and getting up at half past seven hadn't left him feeling chipper. While he wasn't the zombie that Ron could be in the morning, he also didn't bounce right out of bed. Especially after five hours of sleep.

Seamus was disgustingly bright-eyed, he thought resentfully as the Irish teen tucked into his breakfast with a hearty appetite. Thankfully he was more interested in feeding his face than trying to hold a conversation.

Neville picked up an apple from the array of food that had been provided. The meal was just as expansive as it had been under Dumbledore's reign, but somehow it looked less appealing. Severus Snape – Neville refused to think of him as the headmaster – sat in the central chair at the faculty table, which was just slightly larger than the others. He wasn't eating his meal either, electing instead to level a disapproving glare on the students.

Neville averted his eyes quickly, not wanting to catch his attention. While he no longer had the blinding fear of Snape that had once dominated his life, the man still made him uneasy. He could rationalize that, since Snape had been the one to kill his predecessor.

Down at the other end of the table, the first-years – pitifully few compared to the prior class – were naively chatting. Their voices carried as they twittered about classes and their new dorms, and he eavesdropped shamelessly, feeling a surge of nostalgia for bygone days. Neville tried to remember being that young, and found his memories overwhelmed by what he'd seen since.

The older students were quieter, eating their meals in silence. A couple of the more studious were reviewing their new textbooks, but most were seated close together and poking at their food. Except for the Slytherins, who were acting more upbeat than Neville had ever seen from them before. Strangely, Malfoy was sitting on the edge of the group, and not holding court in the middle. Something was up there.

Neville returned his attention to the Gryffindors, noting the ones who were missing. Their ranks hadn't been as decimated as Hufflepuff, which only had about half a table of students now, but there were plenty of missing faces; those whose parents had been too stubborn to register as Muggleborn. The seventh year class was the most affected, with Dean, Harry, Ron and Hermione not in attendance. He was impressed by the bravery of the Creevey brothers, though maybe they had been unwise to return. It was no secret that Colin had been one of the victims when the Chamber of Secrets had been open.

Ginny gave him a dirty look from where she was sitting, upset that Neville hadn't agreed to her plans to steal the sword. But after two hours of sometimes heated discussion, the members present had agreed to wait for a few days to get the lay of the land before acting. The Gryffindors would have rushed right in, but the Ravenclaw component of the DA had advised caution, and a plan. Neville had sided with them, leaving his house mates irate.

But hopefully safer.

Snape clapped his hands together, the sound echoing throughout the hall with magical force. The scant conversations died instantly, much the same as they had whenever Dumbledore had addressed the student body – but the reason was entirely different. While Dumbledore had evoked respect and awe, Snape was downright terrifying. Everyone knew who he answered to.

"Prefects will pass out class schedules now," Snape said in voice that sounded bored. "You will proceed immediately to your classes. Anyone who lingers will discover reason to regret their lack of motivation."

Neville didn't doubt that, although McGonagall was glaring ominously at Snape. It was unfair how she had been displaced. She had a horrible temper, and Neville was amazed that she hadn't told the school board _exactly_ what she thought of the slight. If she had, she wouldn't be sitting up front, and Gryffindors would be without their head of house. She had probably known that, and sublimated her rage. That took a special kind of courage.

The prefects started to move down the tables, handing out the scrolls. Neville had never been more keenly aware of Hermione and Ron's absences; Snape, of course, hadn't deigned to appoint replacements. Ginny handed him his schedule, and Neville couldn't help but notice the tightness of her lips. He unrolled it slowly, knowing he wasn't going to like what was there.

He was right.

Neville's eyes immediately fixated on _DA – Dark Arts._ It was slated for twice a week, on Mondays and Thursdays in the afternoon. His mind – admitted never the quickest in the school – couldn't help but miss the old DADA abbreviation. _They've taken the DA out of it,_ he thought a bit wildly, _to make their own DA._

He must have been laughing a bit, because Seamus gave him a weird look. "You okay?"

"Fine, fine," Neville murmured. "Just a bit tired." He forced himself to take another bite of his apple, knowing that he was going to need his strength for the rest of the day. The fruit tasted grainy.

"Ready for classes, then?"

"Of course not," Neville replied. He'd never been the best student, except for Herbology. "What's your first class?"

Seamus made a face. "I've got Arithmancy."

"Lucky you."

Neville's first class was thankfully Herbology, with Professor Sprout. It was his favorite, and as they entered greenhouse five he felt himself start to relax. There was something comforting about digging in dirt, and his success in the class was a great confidence boost. As he transplanted the hishrooms into a dark container that isolated them from moonlight, he let his mind drift and enjoy the merciful emptiness.

The seventh year Herbology class was small, with only nine members, and dominated primarily by girls. Neville and Ernie MacMillan were the only males. MacMillan was only there because his mother was a famous herbologist, and had learned enough at her feet to get an easy NEWT. Despite Ernie's natural advantages, Neville consistently scored highest in the class. Ernie liked plants, but Neville loved them, and the flora responded to his touch.

"I heard you had a meeting last night," Ernie said as he worked next to Neville. "I didn't get the message in time."

Neville glanced around the room to make sure no one was paying attention to them. _Constant vigilance_. "There'll be another," he replied. He brushed a bit of dirt off his sleeves before picking up a trowel again.

"Ah. I'll keep my eye out," Ernie promised.

"It'd be nice to hang out with the old crew again." Neville was horrible at subterfuge, feeling a guilty blush start to spread over his face. He knew if Snape or one of the Carrows had appeared at that moment, he'd probably babble everything. He needed to work on that. Ironic, that he'd have to become more Slytherin.

Ernie nodded, returning his attention to his work. They worked in silence for several minutes before Ernie poked Neville in the shoulder to get his attention. "We could have a lot of fun with these, maybe throw a welcome back party. I wonder if Sprout would miss a couple..." he murmured, raising an eyebrow and offering a playful grin.

"She would," an unexpected voice piped behind them, and both spun around to be confronted by a rather amused professor. She had her arms crossed over her chest sternly, but her eyes were sparkling. "While I know plenty students and some stupider adults attempt to use them, _amanita muscaria_, also known as hishrooms, aren't anything you should be messing with. It takes a potion master to harvest their essence. Take one without proper preparation and you'll be walking into walls for weeks."

Ernie squirmed, uncomfortable at having drawn the ire of his head of house. "Yes, ma'am."

"Now I'll want 24 inches from you, MacMillan, on the proper handling and harvesting of hishrooms, along with the possible repercussions of improper use," Sprout continued. "Longbottom, you're to give me 12 inches on the proper applications of hishrooms, particularly for pain relief and Divination."

"Yes, ma'am," they said in unison.

"And Longbottom? Wait after class." She bustled away, going over to correct the plant handling of Lisa Turpin.

Neville glared at Ernie with annoyance. Sprout was his favorite teacher, and getting in trouble with her was like getting kicked in the teeth. This was supposed to be the one class he was good at. While he wasn't the vindictive sort, Neville did briefly entertain the idea of using Ernie as his sparring partner at the next DA meeting. He knew Ernie wasn't as fast with a wand as he was.

After Sprout dismissed the class, Neville loitered by his work station, digging his hands into the soil for reassurance. She moved more slowly than was her custom, checking the locks on the boxes before coming over to him.

"Neville," and it was unusual to hear her use his given name instead of his surname, "even though you're not a Hufflepuff, I feel a certain responsibility toward you."

He smiled shyly, pleased. Many teenage boys would have felt embarrassed by the sentiment, but Neville had grown up in unusual circumstances. While his grandmother had raised him, there were times he longed for more gentleness than the stern Augusta Longbottom possessed. "Thank you, ma'am," he said, looking down at her chubby face, noting that she barely came to his shoulder in height. Score one for summer growth spurts.

Sprout's face was intense, and lacking the usual good-natured expression he strongly associated with her. "You know that if you need anything... need to talk or need help, you can always come to me, right?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, wondering what had brought this on. He did have his own head of house, and Minerva McGonagall was fiercely protective of her students.

Sprout twisted her fat hands in front of her chest, biting her lip. "You will be careful, won't you?"

"Careful of what?" he asked, blinking. Sometimes adults made no sense.

She looked like she was about to break down in tears, which was upsetting. Teachers were supposed to be confident, not afraid. Sprout had always been cheerfully accepting of whatever strangeness Hogwarts threw at her. She managed to collect herself well enough to keep her composure, offering him a pat on the arm. "Just... think before you do anything."

It was a weird conversation, but there had been plenty of those lately. Removing his gloves, he tucked them into the cubby that Sprout allowed her NEWT students to use for storage. He could think on it later.

Lunch was a solemn affair. The third years were quieter than was usual – and he knew without asking that they'd been the first students in the new Dark Arts class. He cast them a curious look, wishing he dared ask what had happened, but that would have to wait until tonight, in the common room. And by then, Neville thought grimly, he'd already have first-hand experience. Neville ate lightly, worried that the class might make him want to throw up.

The meal went by too quickly, and all too soon it was time for Dark Arts. The seventh year NEWT students marched out of the great hall, trooping along like they were heading to their own executions. Except the Slytherins. Neville was starting to believe there would be a lot of "excepts" for the Slytherin students this year.

Together with Lavender, Seamus and Parvati, the four remaining Gryffindor seventh years moved down the hallway, moving in a pack for safety. He didn't know much about Professor Amycus Carrow, but he wore his Dark Mark openly, which was enough to know that the man was evil. Neville had been tempted to drop the class, but he'd learned in fifth year how essential being able to defend himself and his friends was. The rest of the DA had come to similar conclusions, since all of them had taken DA after fifth year, and scored very well.

When they arrived, he wasn't surprised to find Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs standing outside the door. Justin Finch-Fletchley raised a hand in half-hearted greeting. "Ready?" he asked, looking at Neville.

Like all they'd been waiting for him.

The Slytherins had already entered the room, and though it was tempting to procrastinate, the rest of the students needed to hurry up or risk being late. And whatever punishment Carrow would assign, which would definitely be worse than the loss of mere points.

Seeing no one else step forward, Neville decides that he was going to be a Gryffindor and lead the way. The rest of the students fell in behind him, taking seats together in the middle of the room. Malfoy and his friends had already claimed the seats in the back, and they were not quite audacious enough to sit right under their new teacher's nose.

Like previous years, the classroom looked different. Each professor brought their own touch to the classroom, and Professor Carrow's was decidedly sinister. On the surface, it didn't seem so bad, since Slytherin green was the dominant color of the freshly-painted room, but the snake cages (housing all poisonous specimens) were disconcerting, since they created a quiet background of hissing.

Neville had never liked snakes much, especially after second year.

The snakes weren't the worst of it, though. There were books on the shelves, dark texts that had been previously been limited to the Restricted Section, and magical dioramas on the wall illustrating the proper wand movements to cast curses. Little things, but all in all, it added up to a grim picture. And of course, having _The Dark Arts_ by Gellert Grindelwald as the class textbook signaled that the magic they were going to be learning wasn't of the friendly variety.

_It's like sitting in a Death Eater factory,_ Neville thought with disgust. _Attend Hogwarts, and graduate ready to receive your very own Dark Mark. _

They settled themselves in neatly, and prepared parchment and quills to take notes like the well-seasoned students they were. Neville forced himself to breathe evenly, because fainting or suffering a panic attack would get him nowhere.

The doors behind the teacher's desk – a looming mahogany structure that screamed money! and power! - swung open to admit the latest in the ever-shifting DADA (or just DA now) professors. Amycus Carrow was a short man, one who barely broke the five feet mark in height. He was dressed in expensive, tailored robes that tried to minimize the appearance of his potbelly, but only succeeded in making him look like a well-clothed bulldog. He wore a necklace that left a snake medallion dangling at his chest, and his hair was thinning on the top.

He did move well, Neville admitted grudgingly, for a middle-aged wizard, and his eyes were constantly darting around, looking for trouble. As a Death Eater, he was probably knew what he was talking about when it came to Dark Arts, which was a heck of a lot better than Lockhart. After all, Crouch Jr. had been one of their most competent instructors to date, and he'd been on the Dark Lord's side.

What a depressing thought.

Neville would have to be doubly cautious to remember to respect Carrow's abilities. Just because he was evil didn't mean the man wasn't good at his job. Then Carrow giggled, and Neville winced a bit. It went right through his head, the same way nails on a chalkboard did. Luckily the teacher didn't spot his careless lapse of control.

The man waved his wand sharply through the air, producing letters in flame that spelled out his name. "I am Professor Amycus Carrow, as many of you know. I graduated here twenty-seven years ago," he announced. He spoke in the strange accent that only isolated Pure Bloods used, a crisp, nasal sound that could only be called condescending. "During my school years, I was in Slytherin House, like the past sixteen generations of Carrows.

"It's going to take a lot of work to catch up to bring you up to NEWT standards, but I'm sure those of you who should pass, will," he said, looking pointedly at the Slytherins. "The rest of you will learn that failure in my class has severe consequences." He sneered at the Hufflepuffs, a couple of whom cringed. "Some of you may find that there are mistakes in your thinking, and you will learn where your proper place is in our world."

He was looking directly at Neville. Neville met his gaze squarely, not backing down. Harry had never let Umbridge intimidate him, and he would be a poor friend if he didn't remember that lesson. For so long, Harry's courage had been a bastion of strength to other students. Neville wasn't going to let some- some- _Death Eater scum_ - bully him.

Carrow's eyes narrowed dangerously, but he turned away. Neville knew that he'd just marked himself as potential prey for the Death Eater. He could have a nervous breakdown later in his dorm – Seamus wouldn't tell.

For some reason, the man decided not to make an issue of Neville's defiance. The man's sneer curled just a bit more, but he looked away first, tromping over to the board. With another wave of his wand, he wrote in a brilliant, neon green ink on the board. _Killing Curse, Cruciatus Curse, Imperius Curse._ "We're going to start with a refresher. I understand that in fourth year, you had experience with the Three Essentials," Carrow said.

Pansy Parkinson looked surprised, and said without thinking, "You mean the Unforgivables?"

She only got away with it because of who her parents were. Rather than act annoyed, Carrow gave a slight smile, much the way someone would smile at a slow child. "We call them the Three Essentials," he corrected. "If you're going to fight, you need to know them."

The little lunch Neville had threatened to come back up. The image of his parents, lying like lumps in St. Mungos, assaulted his mind, and he gripped his knees to keep from doing something cowardly like fleeing. He swallowed, but the taste of bile lingered in his mouth.

Neville glanced around, and noted that most of the class was struck still with silent horror. A couple of the Slytherins looked uncomfortable, but the expressions on Crabbe and Goyle's faces more than compensated. Their small eyes were practically growing with eagerness.

"We'll start with the Imperius, since it's the easiest to learn. The swish is a bit different than you've seen before," Carrow said, practically trilling. He surveyed the room, briefly settling on Neville before his attention was distracted by another young man wearing the black and gold of Hufflepuff. Justin Finch-Fletchley sank a bit lower in his seat, but Carrow had already settled on him.

He gestured, his wrist about ten degrees different than most spells required. _"Imperio,"_ he said, his voice deepening slightly.

Justin's eyes glazed over, his hands falling flaccidly to his side. The rest of the class stared, transfixed. Moody – Crouch – had cast this before, but that time had been almost fun, since everyone had been forced to do silly things. Neville knew it was unlikely Carrow would choose such innocent activities. Especially since it was no secret that Justin was Muggleborn.

"When cast correctly, the Imperius can be used in a variety of fashions. It can be used to control a subject for years on end, or for only short period of time. While under it, people will have no ability to control their own motions."

Not entirely true, Neville thought, knowing that the Imperius could be fought. But he wasn't going to point that out.

Carrow made a gesture with his wand, and Justin's head went slamming into the desk. He didn't scream or yell, instead raising his head and repeating the gesture, over and over. A couple of the Slytherins snickered, but the rest of the class could only stare – and then some of them started to avert their eyes. Almost a minute passed, and Neville saw that the force was enough to split Justin's forehead open.

"Stop it!" Neville said, finally speaking up, but Justin kept running his head against the table.

"He's only a Mudblood," Carrow said dismissively. "Why care?" There was an edge to his voice that boded no good for typical Gryffindor courage.

Harry would have had a bold answer, but Neville wasn't that smart or brave. He opened his mouth, moving it wordlessly for a moment, before the most inane reason slipped out. "Because his blood is getting all over," he said. He cursed himself inwardly for his cowardice, for not stating that hurting anyone was wrong.

But to his amazement, his objection met with approval.

"A good point," Carrow said. "I wouldn't want to have my classroom fouled," Carrow gestured, and Justin slumped forward, groaning. Neville wondered if he had a concussion. No one moved to help him. "Get out of here, and go clean up," he ordered the unfortunate Hufflepuff.

Normally a student with injuries would be accompanied to the infirmary by a classmate, but Justin was forced to gather himself and his material by himself. Those who had been in the DA looked away, unable to believe what had happened, but Crabbe and Goyle were grinning widely.

"Get out of here, you Mudblood scum!" Crabbe called, wadding a piece of paper and bouncing it off Justin's back. "Hope that shows you your place!"

"Five points to Slytherin for your accurate perception of the situation," Carrow said. "And five from Hufflepuff for your slothfulness."

It was a long, slow walk of shame as Justin stumbled to the exit, tears mixing with the blood on his face. The door shut with a final-sounding thud. Until this moment, it hadn't truly sunk home for Neville that Hogwarts was being run by You-Know-Who.

"Partner up, and you can practice on each other," said Carrow, before moving back to the front of the room. His eyes were lingering on Zacharias Smith, another Muggleborn. Smith ducked his head, showing uncharacteristic humility, as he paired up with Padma.

Neville looked at Seamus, who looked back at him blankly. The lines were clearly drawn, Neville thought. Wordlessly he reached into his pocket, triggering the DA galleon to alert the others that they would meet directly after dinner.

"Partners?" he asked, looking at Seamus, who had acquired a peculiar green tinge in his complexion. Seamus just nodded, not saying anything.

Then Neville pulled out his wand, and faked incompetence as he pretended to attempt to cast the Imperius Curse.


	4. Headmaster Snape

**Lie in the Bed I Make**  
_by aishuu  
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_Chapter Four: Headmaster Snape_

Neville was all too-aware of the sound of his breathing as he sat in the headmaster's office, waiting for Severus Snape to acknowledge his presence.

Which wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

Snape had been ignoring him for fifteen minutes, and was likely to continue doing so, at least until it was time for dinner. He felt like the awkward first year he'd been on first entering Hogwarts, or the third year whose greatest fear had been of Potions Master Severus Snape. There was something about Snape's apathy toward Neville that was almost as terrifying as his hatred. Being ignored was a special kind of insult, a reminder that Snape considered him little better than a Squib.

But a part of him was glad Snape wasn't yelling yet, since Snape could still turn Neville's spine into jelly with a few well-chosen, cutting words. He wished he wasn't stuck here, but it wasn't his fault. He hadn't done anything wrong – except not obey a teacher. But when the teacher had assigned casting an Unforgivable, there was plenty of room to question his competency.

After class, Carrow had pulled him aside. A couple members of the DA lingered, but Neville gave a subtle jerk of his thumb, indicating they should leave him. Seamus signed that he'd be waiting outside the door. Neville was reassured by that, although there would be little Seamus could do if Carrow decided to get nasty – but the moral support was heartening.

Carrow leaned against the edge of his desk, idly tapping his wand against his side. "I watched your wandwork, Longbottom," he said. "It's sloppy – you should have been one of the first to cast that spell."

"I-I've never been a very good student," Neville stammered, uncomfortable with the attention. "Except Herbology." Until sixth year, that had been the strictest truth, but after his stint in the DA, things started to come more naturally to him – and he was _good_ at Defense Against Dark Arts.

Carrow somehow managed to look down his nose at Neville, despite being five inches shorter. "I've reviewed your OWLs, boy," he said. "I would think an O in Defense Against Dark Arts is quite good. Of course, you have several years of education to catch up on when it comes to Dark Arts, but I'm expecting things of you. If you ever need some advice, I'd be happy to give it. Purebloods need to stick together. There's so few of us left," Carrow said.

The idea of being part of an "us" that including Carrow nauseated Neville.

Had Neville been Slytherin, he might have seen Carrow's offer as an opportunity. He might have been able to form an alliance, to get in on the inside, to _spy._ But he was a Gryffindor, and one of their less appealing traits was the ability to put a foot in their mouth before their brain engaged. "I'd rather not cast an Unforgivable," he mumbled under his breath. "So no thank you."

In comparison to the way he could have rebelled, it was a very minor thing, but the effect on Carrow was like he'd just announced he'd rather bugger a sheep than do anything the teacher wanted.

Carrow's nostrils flared wide and he took a deep breath, his eyes narrowing as he leaned forward belligerently. Neville braced himself for the worst. A man who was teaching the Unforgivables wouldn't hesitate to cast them on a student. Witness what had happened to Justin.

"I'm not sure if you understand what's going on, boy," Carrow said with deceptive softness, hissing a bit as the air passed through his crooked teeth. "It's true that Gryffindors aren't terribly bright, so I'll overlook your insolence this once. Though I think a conversation with the headmaster is in order to... inform you... of the new school order."

Reflexive terror choked Neville at the idea, and he forced himself to stay calm and not panic. He almost would have preferred having an Unforgivable cast upon him than having the beard Snape in his new lair.

Carrow hustled him out of the room, a heavy hand on his rigid shoulder. Walking passed Seamus, he kept his eyes forward, not wanting to draw Carrow's attention to his friend. The halls were strangely quiet as he was hustled along.

Usually the most direct route to the entrance of the headmaster's office was only a two-minute walk from the DA classroom, but the staircases were against them. They ended up getting detoured to Ravenclaw tower, and had to work their way back. The additional inconvenience seemed to infuriate Carrow, who gnashed his teeth with annoyance. Neville forced himself to keep his mind carefully blank, knowing that if he thought on what could happen, he'd turn into a gibbering mess.

Ten minutes later, they finally arrived at the entrance of the headmaster's office. "Dark Lord Ascendant," Carrow said to the gargoyle that protected the entry, and the door obliging slid open. Carrow pushed Neville, forcing him onto the stairs. Then the next door opened, and Neville blinked, slightly disoriented.

Severus Snape sat behind the large desk that Dumbledore had used, with scrolls scattered haphazardly over its smooth surface. The desk was one of the few things in the room Neville recognized.

The office had been stripped of much of what had made it such a wonderful place to a child. While Dumbledore had inhabited it, it had been a merry hodgepodge of knickknacks, full of curiosities that were eclectic and strange. Some of the items had been magical or related to the headmaster's research, but in retrospect, Neville realized most of the oddities were junk, collected over a century of life. He'd rarely been invited inside – only three times in his entire career – but each time had been like walking into the very essence of wonder.

But those treasures had been cleared away sometime over the summer, and the room was lessened from the loss.

The only addition Neville could approve of was of Dumbledore's portrait, and that was a bittersweet sight. More than anything, it signified that the greatest wizard was truly dead. The old man was watching them, his sharp blue eyes evaluating what was happening.

"Snape!" Carrow said, trying to get his attention.

Snape kept working on the scroll in front of him, not even sparing the intruders a glance. "What could possibly be so important that you drag _Neville Longbottom_ into my presence, interrupting my studies?"

"I thought it would be a good idea to make sure Mr. Longbottom is aware of _exactly_ what will happen to him if he decides to rebel," Carrow replied. "He's a Pureblood, and it shouldn't be too hard-"

"I'll deal with him, Amycus," Snape said in a sharp voice. He still didn't look up from his work. The scratching of the quill on paper was the only other sound, since the portraits were all maintaining their silence. "I'm sure there's other students who could benefit from your... instruction right now."

The insult wasn't as subtle as Snape usually used, and Carrow was a smart enough man to realize he was being curtly dismissed. "Fine!" said Carrow snappishly before whirling and thundering out of the room.

Neville made a mental note – which he'd probably forget in the next five minutes – that Snape didn't like Carrow. That tidbit might be valuable in helping the DA sometime in the future.

Providing he survived this meeting first. Now that there was only one visible threat, Neville's attention was riveted on Snape. The man was thinner than he'd been last spring, Neville noted critically, and the lines around his eyes were more pronounced. There was still that pinched look on his face. The Weasley twins had once said Snape suffered from perpetual constipation. It would explain a lot.

"Sit down, Longbottom," Snape said.

Neville's knees were shaking, but he managed to stumble into the chair across from Snape without falling flat on his face. He felt wane and washed-out, knowing that he was about to be chewed out, and this time there was no higher authority keeping a leash on Snape's temper. He wouldn't be surprised if Snape decided to throw a Cruciatus or two himself.

He waited, digging his fingers into the arms of the chair, for the tongue-lashing to begin. A minute later he blinked as no tirade came forth. Sweat started to form on his forehead as the anticipation began to weigh on him, because the longer it was quiet, the more time Snape had to mentally prepare. Ten minutes passed, and Neville started to get irritated - the silent treatment was getting on his nerves.

He didn't dare take his attention off Snape, though, because the man would notice without even needing to look. Threads of white had appeared in Snape's hair near his temples. He was one of the youngest staff members at Hogwarts – adding more insult to the Ministry's bypassing McGonagall as headmistress – but even he was aging. Lately Neville was becoming more cognizant of the fact that everyone around him was altering as time passed.

Twenty minutes later, he was nearly agitated enough to try to draw Snape's attention intentionally. Just as he started to consider the safest way (at least for the integrity of his limbs) to make Snape notice him, the man finally set aside his quill and folded his hands the desk. The sudden movement made him jump in his seat, and Snape's lips curved derisively.

"I am quite aware that despite your breeding, your incompetency knows no bounds," said Snape. "Therefore, I see no need to punish you for failing to perform a spell which is beyond your limited abilities."

Neville had always admired Snape's way with words, his ability to twist language and make it do his bidding. There was something nearly hypnotizing about his speech, and Neville took a moment to process what was being said.

"You're... you're not punishing me?"

"You didn't cause any damage this time, and I know better than to try to squeeze blood from a stone. I'm sure Professor Carrow will figure that out eventually. Even so, I'll be keeping an eye on you, Longbottom," Snape warned as he lifted one of his hands to point it accusingly at Neville. "I'm not unaware of what transpires in the school. Without certain... undesirable elements which have fortunately been expelled from this august institution, other students may feel the need to... fill the gap. Perhaps even those who should – in fact, do – know better."

Neville was having a nasty flashback to his first year, when he'd had no self esteem and a nearly insurmountable fear of Snape, being rejected by his classmates, and proving to be a Squib. Snape had come to personify all that he wasn't – talented, confident, uncaring what others thought, _Slytherin._

But that was nearly seven years ago, and he wasn't a cowering child. He opened his mouth to retort, before shutting it hastily as he recognized that fighting with Snape would get him nowhere. There was standing up for yourself, and then there was foolishly making a target of yourself. Neville bit his tongue, sucking up his anger, and let Snape continue.

"While I am not foolish enough to assume you have redeeming value because of your blood status, I similarly am not foolish enough to believe you won't try to be stupidly Gryffindor," Snape finished, emphasizing the final word as though it tasted vile. "In fact, perhaps-"

But then a flash of light came from the fireplace, and a face appeared in the fire. Neville blinked as he recognized the features of Lucius Malfoy in the coals. "Severus, you need to come here immediately," Malfoy Senior said imperiously. "It seems Nott has had an unfortunate encounter with a Nix, and we need to brew a Brännvin potion." Lucius disappeared as soon as he finished his sentence.

"I do not have time to deal with this idiocy," Snape muttered under his breath, tossing his hands up in the air in angry gesture. Rising to his feet, he pulled on a black cloak that had been hanging behind his chair and threw it over his shoulders. "Get out of here, Longbottom." He moved over to the mantel and dunked a hand into the small, golden cup that sat on the edge. "Malfoy Manor!" Snape called, before throwing the floo powder and stepping into the fireplace. A flash of green later, and the smoke was gone.

Leaving Neville alone in the headmaster's office.

Neville finally allowed himself to slump. The last hour had been exceedingly taxing, and he was amazed he was still in one piece. Heaving a deep sigh, he took a second to compose himself, earning a derogatory comment from one of the portraits about Gryffindor laziness. He scowled at it in annoyance, but decided against snapping back. Despite all its animate behavior, it wasn't a true living being, and a person only wasted time arguing with the portraits, since their personality and opinions were well-set.

"That could have gone worse," he muttered to himself. "Probably will next time." There was no doubt in his mind that there would be a next time.

Professor Dumbledore smiled at him from his frame. "Have some faith, Longbottom," he encouraged.

Neville didn't find that reassuring. He'd rarely spoken with the headmaster while he'd been alive; few students had, with the notable exception of Harry Potter. Albus Dumbledore had been a powerful figure in life, but often was too wrapped up in politics and the mechanics of running the school to spend time with his pupils.

Neville rose to his feet, straightening his robe and smoothing his hands over his shirt as he collected himself. He didn't want the rest of the DA to see him looking frazzled. It wouldn't do anything for their confidence, and in the end, this confrontation had been fairly easy to survive. He started to move toward the door, but a voice stopped him.

"Perhaps you want to take a moment to examine your surroundings," Dumbledore advised.

Knowing that Dumbledore had never done anything without a reason, Neville stopped immediately, his obedience so ingrained that it didn't matter that the suggestion was from a painting. Then he turned around, trying to figure out what the former headmaster wanted him to notice.

Like Snape, the office was austere, lacking much in the way of ornamentation. There were some signs of his interests – a bookshelf filled to overflowing with Dark Arts texts, and a small laboratory area that was clearly meant to brew potions. But Snape was a meticulous personality, and there was no clutter, no sign of his personal life like a portrait of a friend or knickknacks. That lent credence to the widely-held belief (at least among students not in Slytherin) that Snape had no personal life.

He frowned, then someone coughed. "I think you're supposed to come over here," said a familiar, gravelly voice. Neville looked over and saw the Sorting Hat perched on a coat rack in the corner, above a large glass case that was at least four feet long.

Neville picked his way through the clean room, keeping his arms tightly to his body for fear of accidentally upsetting something. There was no practical risk of that happening, but Neville's childhood clumsiness led him to being cautious. "What-" he started to ask, but then glanced into the case and realized _exactly_ what Dumbledore wanted him to see.

The Sword of Gryffindor was just sitting there, a long blade of metal that made his fingers itch to pick it up. The rubies on the pommel seemed to glow with an inner flame, like some kind of illumination spell had been embedded with them.

His breath caught, and he looked over his shoulder at Dumbledore. He opened his mouth to ask a question when a movement from another portrait reminded him that not all the portraits were allies, since Snape technically was their new master.

Neville could take the sword now, claim it in the name of his house. Snape had no right to keep the blade, not when Dumbledore had willed it to Harry. Not when Harry had been the one to retrieve it five years ago. Not when Snape stood on the side of the Heir of Slytherin, You-Know-Who.

He reached out to touch the glass, to take action as he hadn't so many times in the past, when his common sense got the better of him. The sword was important, but if he took it now, Snape would definitely know who the thief was. He'd still be a prime suspect if the sword disappeared at a later time, but at least he'd have a chance of sneaking under Snape's radar. Sometimes being underestimated wasn't a bad thing.

"Thank you, sir," he murmured to the Sorting Hat, earning a raspy chuckle in reply.

"I did right in Sorting you, didn't I?" the Hat replied.

Neville remembered his discussion during the Sorting, and how his expectation of being relegated to Hufflepuff had been overturned by the strong-willed Hat. _Gryffindor is where you belong, Neville Longbottom,_ the Hat had said. _You are your parents' son, and you have greater depths than you believe._

"You did," Neville replied with a smile as he turned back toward the door. He'd come back later tonight, with Ginny. Carrow had foolishly spoken loudly on his way in, giving Neville the password to the headmaster's office.

He was nearly giddy with anticipation – and fear. But he was Gryffindor – foolishly so, according to Snape's standards - and he wouldn't back down. 


	5. Hogwarts Underground

**Lie in the Bed I Make  
**

_by aishuu_

* * *

_Chapter Five: Hogwarts Underground_

Neville decided that it would be better to wait until after the meeting of the complete DA to broach the matter of the Sword of Gryffindor with Ginny. There was enough for them to discuss without getting into the complicated – and likely very risky – process of planning grand larceny.

Unlike most Gryffindors, Neville was a student of the art of patience. As a whole, Gryffindors were an impulsive lot, quick to spring into action in any direction, as long as it _was_ action. They'd made many mistakes with that attitude, although most of the times the mistakes were fixable. But this time there was no room for error. A mistake could wind up with people hurt – or worse, dead.

Neville had learned the hard way that there were situations that he had no power to control. All those Sundays, visiting his parents at St. Mungos, had taught him that sometimes a person was powerless. The ability to recognize when to act, and when to wait, was essential right now. So he was still, even though the others around him weren't.

Seamus paced the Room of Requirement, back and forth over the lush, Ravenclaw-blue carpet. The room had expanded from the last meeting so it could hold more people, and was decorated in primary colors to represent the three houses that would be using it. Neville sat by Ginny and watched, wondering if he should try to calm his friend down.

It was pushing seven o'clock, and almost all the chairs were filled. The members of the DA were trickling in slowly, in ones and twos, trying to slip passed the teachers without gaining their attention. Finally the door slid close behind Parvati and Lavender, and there was no one else to wait for.

The room was filled with about twenty upper-level students. Unlike most of the school, the DA hadn't experienced a crippling loss of members – except to graduation. It was the students below fourth year that had been pulled out and sent to Beauxbatons in France or even the Salem Witches Institute in the United States. The older students had remained, primarily because switching this late in the game was a bad idea, or because they called Hogwarts home.

Or because they knew that the battle would follow them. Neville didn't have any illusions about what You-Know-Who would do if he conquered the Isles. He would look outward to Europe, and then the entire world, to force his form of order on everyone. You-Know-Who would never gain enough power to satisfy himself, but that wouldn't stop him from trying.

Neville looked at Justin Finch-Fletchley, who had somehow escaped from Madam Pomfrey's tyrannical hands to attend the meeting. Since his wounds hadn't been caused by magic directly, they'd been treatable in the infirmary. At least the physical wounds. Neville had never been particularly close to Justin, but he could tell the other young man was troubled.

Neville wanted to apologize for not speaking up sooner, for letting this happen, but felt that would be demeaning to Justin – obviously, no one in the DA had wanted to see another of their classmates be hurt. "Are you okay, Justin?" he asked instead, knowing that the others that witnessed the Imperius episode had to be wondering the same.

Justin pushed his dark bangs back from his forehead, showing the yellowing bruises. "It'll be fine by breakfast tomorrow," he assured them. "Doesn't even hurt anymore."

That wasn't the point, Neville thought, but knew better than to argue. Glancing around the room, he tried to find something to say that didn't include babbling about the Sword of Gryffindor. "Well, I guess we know why all the third years were terrified yesterday," he said lamely.

"I'll say," Hannah Abbott replied, her voice lacking irony. Once upon a time, Neville had thought her a flighty girl, but the murder of her mother last year had an obvious impact. Her blond hair was tied back in a low ponytail at the base of her neck, and her clothes lacked the usual accessories of the fashion-obsessed. She'd become entirely practical, one of those people who were able to evaluate a problem and reach a clear decision without letting emotion overrule their common sense. That would come in useful, since Hermione wasn't around.

Seamus, still pacing, wheeled around to glare at the group. "It shouldn't have happened," he said. "It's still against the law to use the Unforgivables!"

"Like that matters," Hannah replied. "The question is what we're going to do about it."

"We'll fight, of course," Ginny said. "Now that we now what they're ready to do, we can strike back."

"Are you willing to cast an Unforgivable?" Luna asked, sounding more curious than horrified. "Because you'd need that kind of spell to have a chance – that, or get a blibbering humdinger," she mused, pressing her finger against her lips thoughtfully.

It was a sign how far the DA had come that no one thought to mock her or rolled their eyes. Instead Boot spoke up. "Maybe we should start out by catching everyone up on what we talked about last night," he said, looking to Neville for affirmation. Neville just nodded back at him, glad for the suggestion. Hermione used to have an agenda for meetings; he missed her organization.

Boot pulled the sheet out, the contract that had been signed the previous evening, and passed it around to the members who'd missed the first meeting. Hannah and Susan Bones signed the document, but progress stopped when it reach Zacharias Smith. The Hufflepuff read the document slowly, shut his eyes, then read it again. "I can't do this," he whispered, hanging his head. His shoulders slumped as he looked to the floor, a man weak in defeat.

"What do you mean, you can't do this?" Ginny snapped, rising halfway to her feet and holding out her wand threateningly. "Do you want You-Know-Who to take over our school?"

"In case you haven't noticed, Weasley, he's already in charge of the school!" Smith replied sharply, and suddenly he was standing, facing Ginny squarely. There was a slight tremble in his body, and the sound of his breathing rasped loudly through the otherwise silent room. "We can't win! Potter's fled, Dumbledore's dead, and we're just students – how in hell can we fight against the Dark Lord?"

Ginny stepped toward him threateningly, her wand at the ready. "Why, you _coward_," and there was no worse insult from a Gryffindor.

"Stop it!" Neville cut in, jumping up and placing himself between the two combatants before a spell could be thrown.

Both of them turned to look Neville, Ginny angrily and Smith with confusion. "Let him go," Neville said, turning his back to Smith so he could look Ginny squarely in the eyes. "It's better he's honest now, than gets in over his head and betrays us later."

She opened her mouth, ready to object, then took a deep breath and let her wand fall to her side. "You're right," she said softly. "I wouldn't want him at my back, anyway."

Neville turned to Smith. "Get out," he said softly, wishing he was as intimidating as Harry. "And tell no one what you know."

Smith was flushed, either with anger, shame or a combination thereof. "I'm _sorry_," he apologized, shutting his eyes. "I wish I could believe in this, but I can't. I... just can't," and then he walked out the door.

Neville was glad to take his seat again so he could hide the shaking of his knees. He felt horribly guilty for being so _mean_ to Smith, but he couldn't let anyone else know. "If anyone else wants out, now's the time to leave."

The remaining fifteen members of the DA remained firmly in their chairs. Lavender picked up the parchment Smith had abandoned, read it over quickly and signed, before passing it on to Padma. The room was silent as the contract finished making its rounds. Smith's departure had cast a cloud of gloom over the whole group.

Finally, Dennis Creevey signed the sheet, and rose to his feet to walk it over to Neville. It felt almost ceremonial as the scroll was presented. Neville unrolled it so he could see the final result; the signatures stood out, bold statements of defiance. Neville smiled as he realized that his friends wouldn't be cowed by the Dark Lord. The scroll represented their determination.

_Incriminatingly so._

If it was found by Snape or one of his cronies...

Neville maneuvered in his chair slightly so he could throw the document into the fire. He watched as the flames eagerly consumed it, even as the room started to ring with very loud protests.

"NEVILLE!"

"What in blazes do you think you're doing, Longbottom?"

"Are you chickening out on us?"

Neville nearly wilted at their criticism. There was nothing worse than having a friend mad at you, and he'd just ticked of the entire DA. He turned his head back so he could explain his rational. "We need to learn from our past mistakes. This kind of evidence could get us all expelled," he said. Thank Merlin, he didn't end up stuttering.

"Or killed," Hannah chimed in softly.

"Then why do it in the first place?" Ernie asked in frustration.

"To know your commitment," Luna answered. Unspoken went the obvious example of Zacharias Smith. "Signing the paper is easy, any first year can write their name. But not every first year can stand the Cruciatus Curse." The way she spoke sounded like it was a foregone conclusion that they would all be tortured.

"That's a cheery thought," Seamus said, grimacing with what was meant to be a smile. He finally plopped down in the vacant chair that was meant for him. "But I guess it's going to be that kind of cheery year."

Silence reigned again. If Harry was here, he'd rally the others – or Hermione would preach about the importance of the work. Ron might even cut in with a joke, managing to lighten the grim atmosphere.

_They're not here,_ Neville told himself again, for the hundredth time since school had started. "It's not going to be easy," he said. "But we'll do what we need to."

"Which is?" Ginny asked.

"Annoy the hell out of Snape!" Colin Creevey said.

"Make like miserable for the Slytherins!" his younger brother said at the same time.

"Make the Carrows wish they'd never signed up for teaching!" Justin snapped viciously. The bruise on his face caught the firelight, and Neville couldn't blame him for his antipathy.

"Believe in Harry," Ginny whispered. Her words had a chilling effect, pointing out the absence of their former leader. The excitement of the moments before faded away, leaving them all sitting thoughtfully.

Finally someone spoke to break the uneasy silence – surprisingly, it was a Ravenclaw. "Our priority should be to keep the younger students safe," Michael Corner said seriously, before a grin split his face. "And then annoy the hell out of Snape."

Seamus whooped gleefully, and then about half the group began to applaud. Neville felt bile rise in his throat; these idiots didn't have a clue what they were letting themselves in for. They hadn't seen the battle at the ministry, the loss of one of their own... they didn't _understand._ This wasn't like the Umbridge years, when the worst facing them was the blood quills.

He wondered if the twits were applauding their own impending deaths.

_Have faith; believe things will be okay,_ he remonstrated his negative thoughts.

Thankfully, Hannah interrupted the group before they got too carried away. "This is serious, people," Hannah said, leaning forward intently. "We're not just breaking school rules; we're fighting the war against the followers of You-Know-Who."

Again the gloom descended. It was extremely depressing. "So what are we going to do?" Lavender asked. "It's great to say we're going to protect the students, but how?"

"We can't keep meeting each other like this," Ginny added. "They're sure to notice."

"But acting independently could get us in more trouble," Corner replied. "We could inadvertently trip each other up."

"How about organizing cells?"

"Cells?" Ginny turned toward Anthony Goldstein.

Goldstein adjusted his glasses slowly, clearing his throat like a professor about to launch into a lecture. "It's what the Muggle resistance used, back during World War II," he explained. "You work in small groups, and only the leader of each group – that's called the cell – knows what's going on. It limits the possibility of exposure; the only people who know what's going on is the leader, and if there's problems, a cell can be isolated."

"Isolated?"

"Carrow's already shown he doesn't care about using illegal curses. It's possible he might control a student – one of us – and get inside of our group. Remember Katie Bell?"

They all did, Neville thought. She had been one of them. Thankfully her cursing hadn't ended in death, but months in the hospital. "Or one of our friends might decide it's better to side with You-Know-Who," Neville said softly. Ron had told him about Peter Pettigrew. Even Gryffindors weren't above betrayal. "Voldemort's followers came from all houses, not just Slytherin."

Seamus looked irritated at that suggestion, but Luna nodded seriously. "There's probably already some spies," she stated, twirling her necklace through her hands in some obscure pattern that probably warded away nargles.

"But if we're using that kind of format, we're not always going to know what's going on. The regular members, I mean," Corner said. "And we might inadvertently get in each other's way."

"We just need to pick leaders we can trust," Ginny replied. "I know it hurts your Ravenclaw soul, but sometimes ignorance isn't such a bad thing."

Corner exchanged glances with Goldstein and Boot, his closest friends. "I see," he said neutrally. "I can't say I like the idea, but it is strategically sound."

"So who?" Padma asked. "Anyone want to volunteer, or nominate someone?"

"The leaders should be the Purebloods," Goldstein said.

"Isn't that just proving their point?"

"It's being smart and using our resources," Goldstein countered. "They're less likely to hurt Purebloods. The Death Eaters are going to try to persuade you to their side, but I don't think they'll do anything serious to you. They need all the Purebloods there are; it's too small a gene pool otherwise."

Neville inwardly shuddered at the thought of being part of a "gene pool," whatever that was. He didn't want to be part of anything with the Death Eaters. But Carrow's actions earlier today showed there might not be any choice.

"One leader per chapter, who knows what each house is doing. The leaders can meet as needed – they can pretend to be a study group or something," Boot outlined.

"And each chapter is a house?"

"That makes the most sense. So... who?"

"I'll do Ravenclaw," Luna volunteered. "Susan? Up for taking Hufflepuff?"

"Of course," Susan Bones replied she crossed her arms over her chest, and for a second reminded Neville of Sprout. She, too, had faced a very real loss in the war already. Amelia Bones had been her aunt, and they had been close.

"And Ginny can do Gryffindor," Luna concluded, smiling as she toyed with her necklace.

Neville tried not to feel hurt that she wasn't suggesting that he take responsibility. It was true he was no Harry Potter, but he'd thought he had gained some respect. And he was older.

"Wouldn't Neville be better?" Seamus asked, and Neville jerked his attention to his roommate. "No offense, Ginny," he added hastily.

"None taken," Ginny replied, raising an eyebrow at Luna. "And Neville might be a better pick. The Death Eaters already hate my family."

"Well, Neville needs to lead all of us, right?" Luna said, smiling in her vague way. "It's not fair if he has to take care of the day-to-day stuff in his house on top of it."

Neville almost choked as the others quickly agreed that was a good idea. Somehow it seemed dreadfully official, and he could feel the pressure of responsibility set onto his shoulders. "T-thank you, everyone," he said, stuttering slightly over the first words. He braced himself, _Never let them see your fear._ "I think it would be best if we hold house meetings tonight. Think up strategies to keep the younger students as safe as possible, and promote your house solidarity. Maybe even decide to disregard the point system; the House Cup is trivial, and getting mad at each other is useless over such minor things."

"Slytherin's going to win anyway," Ernie replied bitterly.

Neville was just about to dismiss the group when someone cleared there throat. Dennis, their youngest member, seemed tiny compared to the older students. "Are we looking for new members?" he asked. "I know a couple of my friends really want to join."

Neville opened his mouth to say they were too young, but stopped when he realized Dennis was a fifth year – the same year he'd been on joining the DA. "That depends. First, can anyone make more galleons?" Hermione had been an exceptionally talented witch, and her skill was tough to replicate.

"I can probably figure it out," Boot said. "If Luna and Parvati help."

The girls voiced their agreement. "Good. Figure it out, and then let me know. We'll figure out how to decide who to admit later," Neville said. He'd need to think of sensible precautions. Then he ended the meeting.

The students filed out, in ones and twos, just as they had arrived. Finally only he, Susan, Ginny and Luna remained. Taking a deep breath, he looked at his lieutenants and decided now was the time to broach the Sword of Gryffindor.

"Ladies? Are you up for a mission?"


End file.
